


"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..."

by LadyCorvidae



Series: "But I have promises to keep..." [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:23:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/pseuds/LadyCorvidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They hadn't gone to Germany together at the beginning of this trip. Then Molly literally ran into him at a market, of all places, and he had dragged her along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctor WTF (Mimzy)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Doctor+WTF+%28Mimzy%29).



> This is part one of a three-shot little piece that I wrote for my awesome friend, the lovely Fay (Doctor WTF on ff.net- CHECK OUT HER STUFF!). Hope you enjoy it, and please, feel free to leave constructive criticism. This is unbeta'd, so there might be grammar mistakes. The title of this work is taken from the poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost.

They were on a trip to Germany, of all places. Not together, intentionally. However, it was going to turn out that way, much to both of their shock. Sherlock was there for a high-profile case, Molly was there for a workshop that proved to be both insightful and informational. They literally bumped into each other in a market in Stuttgart, the tall detective looking a little surprised to see his pathologist in the same place. Then his eyes narrowed and he took Molly by the arm, steering her away from the pre-packaged frozen dinners that she was eyeing.  
“I’m being followed,” he murmured, his baritone low and dark in her ear, making her shiver. “And now you’re involved. I’m sorry for this happening-” he wasn’t, not really, but it was a social nicety lie that would hopefully reassure her (not that he cared about that either) “-but you’re going to have to come with me until we can lose our pursuer.” She was too dumbfounded to do anything but nod and walk as he pulled her along.  


“So what do we do now? Go back to a hotel and wait for this to blow over?” she asked as he dragged her out of the store and down the sidewalk. She had to half-jog to keep pace with his long legs.  


“I’m afraid not. Now both our hotels will be watched, and I, for one, have no great desire to be dragged away by thugs and possibly be tortured,” he said. She blanched and stumbled, causing him to look back with a frown of disapproval.  


“Could you at least slow down a little, please? I can’t keep up,” she asked, a little breathless. He huffed in displeasure and complied, slowing down just enough for her to keep pace. Without warning, he stopped and she crashed into him. He was looking at an advert that was entirely in German, and a smile was curling itself around the corners of his mouth. She couldn’t make it out, but the pictures showed lush, dark forests. He started to walk again, this time with purpose and determination firing his eyes.  


“Where are we going now?” she asked. He grinned, and it was full of calculated pleasure.  


“We’re going to the Black Forest.”

 

About an hour later, they were in the depths of the forest, full of evergreens and deep shadows. It really was called the Black Forest for a reason, she thought, eyeing the darker parts of the woods with a hint of fear. Despite her occupation, Molly was not fond of the dark; too many bad movies when she was a child, and then the constant looking over her shoulder during the days and months after it was revealed that the sweet Jim from I.T. was actually a notorious criminal psychopath. The further they went into the forests, the darker it got and all the trees seemed to blend into one continuous, confusing line of wood and green. Finally, Sherlock took out his phone, and promptly cursed.  


“What? What is it?” she asked, unable to keep the faintest tinge of anxiety out of her voice.  


“No signal,” he growled. “This is both an advantage and a hinderance. We can’t be tracked, but neither can we call for help or find our way. And the daylight is fading fast. We don’t have the time or the means to find more suitable lodging, I’m afraid.” Molly blinked- so they were lost out in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help and no place to stay. She gave a huff of annoyance. Lucky for him, she’d often gone camping with her Dad in the Forests of Dean when she was a child and on holiday during the summer.  


“We’ll make do, then,” she said staunchly. She noted Sherlock’s raised eyebrow with the faintest hint of a blush. She may have been a mousy pathologist, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have hidden depths. It took them another hour, and the rapidly dwindling daylight wasn’t helping, but they managed to find a suitable clearing. She looked around and nodded once.  
“This will have to be good enough. I’ll start making a shelter if you could get a fire going,” she said to him. Sherlock bristled at being given orders, but he had no other choice. He started piling sticks and twigs and dry brush into a pile and patted his pockets for a lighter. When he realized that he hadn’t brought it with him (it was in his suitcase back at the hotel, a good 90 km away), he cursed again and started angrily rubbing two sticks together. If primitive man could do it, so could he.

Another hour and a half had passed now, and Molly had managed to make a snug lean-to, in the angle of a fallen tree and a living one. There were plenty of branches around to make a roof and some rudimentary walls, but it would be a tight squeeze for the both of them.  


“How’s the fire coming along?” she asked, dusting her hands off, sticky from the pine sap.  


“It isn’t. You’ll just have to go without,” Sherlock spat, throwing down the sticks with disgust and stalking off to the edge of the clearing, in a foul mood.  


“But Sherlock, it’s freezing! We need one,” she protested. It was mid-spring, but the nights were cold, and the deep chill of lingering winter seemed to enjoy hiding in the nooks and crannies that the dark hemlocks had so helpfully provided.  


“Then you should have thought of bringing a better coat,” he said. Her eyes narrowed- usually she was more forgiving when it came to him, but now, her usual patience had run out.  


“Well excuse me. It wasn’t my idea to get dragged out to the middle of the Black Forest! I was quite happy on my own at my conference until you crashed into me and decided that I had to come along! I wasn’t exactly prepared for a damned camping excursion at your whim. We’re lost, we have no phone signal, and now we have no fire. So, Sir Genius ‘I’m-Too-Good-For-Everyone-Else’, I’m going to go to bed. Its a far sight better than having to put up with you right now,” she said, stomping into the dark, fragrant shelter she’d constructed. If she had looked back, she would have caught the rare sight of Sherlock blinking, taken aback by the violence of her outburst.

The hours passed and the night deepened around them, bringing the cold with it. Molly shivered and huddled in the lean-to, the wind blowing through the cracks. The trees creaked overhead, and she thought she could hear the howls of wolves in the distance. Although that was probably silly- there wouldn’t be wolves in this part of the woods; they’d probably been hunted out or driven away by the press of humanity, encroaching on their territory. Miserable and cold, wishing for nothing but the warmth and comfort of her hotel room back in Stuttgart, she curled into a smaller ball and tried to conserve her energy.  


Across the clearing, Sherlock alternately paced and looked over his shoulder at the dark shape of the lean-to and the figure inside it. As much as he hated to admit it, she did have a point. She had been minding her own business until he had crashed into her and forced her to come with him. He could have foreseeably just let her go, ignored her. But no, he had to talk to her, and his little follower would have most certainly taken notice. If he had left Molly after he had spoken to her, she would have likely been kidnapped and used as bait to draw him out. The thought of her, strapped to a chair somewhere, blindfolded and bound, in pain all because of him, made something deep within him growl. She was his pathologist, and he would not let her be harmed. The more rational side of him (that sounded somewhat like Mycroft, but he ignored the resemblance) raised its eyebrows and said something about his reaction smacking strongly of sentiment. He told his rational side to piss off and continued with his pacing. Finally, he heard the sound of chattering and turned around fully. Molly had curled up in a corner of the little hut she had made and was shivering. He hadn’t noticed the cold as much in his great black coat, the heavy wool keeping him warm. But all she had was a light jacket, better suited for short jaunts around the city where she had been staying. She was so small and frailly birdlike that it was hard for her to retain her body heat. An icy blast of wind made her cry out, and something pained him. His mind palace labeled the feeling as ‘guilt’, and he sighed. He had dragged her into this mess; the least he could do was make sure she didn’t suffer more than she already was.

Molly was shaken from her torpor by the sound of footsteps. She looked up to see Sherlock stalking over to her and taking a seat beside her.  
“I am... sorry,” he said, his voice somewhat stilted. “You are correct- I could have left you well enough alone. I will keep that in mind should an event like this happen in the future.” She blinked. He was actually apologizing to her. Would wonders never cease? Next she would see him actually smiling without the intent to get something from her. She nodded, the bracken beneath them rustling. Then she was surprised when she felt him drag her to him and press her against his side. She squeaked in alarm, then flushed when she realized what he was doing. He had opened his coat and was sharing the heat of his body with her. The warmth seeped into her chilled bones and she let out an involuntary moan of pleasure as she felt the life returning to her half-frozen limbs. She snuggled closer, taking in the glorious feeling of him. If she took a little more pleasure in this than was strictly necessary, she didn’t care. If she had looked up, she would have seen the faintest hint of color touch Sherlock’s cheeks. To anyone that may have been watching, it would appear that the consulting detective liked the closeness of the slight pathologist tucked against him more than he originally thought he would. He swallowed hard and settled down into a more comfortable position for the both of them. Molly could feel her eyes starting to fall shut as the heat ran through her, lulling her stiff muscles and causing the fatigue of the day’s journey and the stress of being hunted catch up with her.  
“Sleep, Molly, get some rest. I’ll keep watch,” he rumbled. She nodded and murmured a soft ‘Thank you’, her head resting on his chest as her breaths became more slow and even in slumber. Sherlock watched as the sky slowly, slowly changed. If he moved the small woman closer to him, he didn’t examine it. There would be time for that later. Now- now he was simply and oddly content to watch the cold light of dawn come through the trees. He could wonder about the strange, tight feeling in his chest later. For the time being, all he could do was hold her closer and wait for the light of day to guide them home.


End file.
